


Where We Stand

by seizure7



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Development, Character Study, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Near Future, POV Third Person, Unreliable Narrator, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:12:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5098682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seizure7/pseuds/seizure7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It ended in the span of 5 seconds.</p><p>Years of tension finally reached its absolute breaking point and all the fights, all the challenges they hurled at each other, all the times they were forced to fight side by side... every damn thing came crashing down in a rain of carnage. Their long established “I’m-only-seeking-you-out-to-fight-you” dynamic lay in splinters at their feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I don't own bleach & I am devastatingly late to the grimmichi party. Forgive me!

It ended in the span of 5 seconds.

Years of tension finally reached its absolute breaking point and all the fights, all the challenges they hurled at each other, all the times they were forced to fight side by side... every damn thing came crashing down in a rain of carnage. Their long established "I'm-only-seeking-you-out-to-fight-you" dynamic lay in splinters at their feet.

Destroyed.

Irreparable.

They were sparring in Hueco Mundo, it had become a regular thing since the truce between their three worlds was established.

Grimmjow _meant_ to shatter his opponent's mask to gorge out his eyes, but deep down he knew Kurosaki would dodge it or block it somehow. Sand was pale, the night was dark and Grimmjow didn't hold back **ever**.

Kurosaki _meant_ to catch his opponent's wrist as he did dozens of times before. Maybe he was on his A-Game that day because he had 8 hours of sleep for once... maybe Grimmjow was slower because his regular hunting time was interrupted by a certain 22 year old kid looking for a fight. Blood was red, the moon above them was never full and the Shinigami's timing was always **shit.**

But the fact was: Kurosaki was a split second faster and Grimmjow was a split second slower and that hand that was supposed to catch his wrist caught his hand instead.

It was awkward but clearly not awkward enough because neither of them could summon the logical desire to break it off. 

Then Kurosaki's mask cracked, evaporating away to reveal wide brown eyes and a furious blush.

Then Grimmjow had to stare and Kurosaki had to stare back.

It clicked- like the moment they opened their eyes for the first time and _knew_ the name of their sword as surely as they knew their own heartbeat.

It was there, _it always there-_

Carried by instinct, instilled into them with every pulse, with every breath they drew.

They dived in impulsively. Fight forgotten. Allegiances abandoned.

What mattered was closing the space between them and stamping out every guilty little question they left to rot in the back of their minds. Confirming that yes, Ichigo's lips were as soft as they looked and he didn't mind having them bitten. That yes, Grimmjow kissed the same way he fought, he relentlessly exposed all of Ichigo's openings and attempted to dominate whenever he could.

"Holy _shit_ ," Ichigo panted as Grimmjow marked up his neck.

"Yeah... what the absolute _fuck_ ," was the hollow's eloquent reply before he rested his forehead against Ichigo's, taking in those raw brown eyes that sought him out every so often, those eyes that welcomed him every time he wanted a fight. He should have noticed the signs earlier. How easily the human dropped everything he was doing whenever Grimmjow turned up for a spar. How he seemed to have so much free time. How casually his romantic partners came and went.

 _Damn._ What else did he miss?

They didn't go any further that night. It was overwhelming enough to discover their desires mirrored each other's.

The next week went by like a whirlwind. The passion between them still burned white hot but their actual progress was as tentative as tracking footsteps in the sand. They doubled back on the years past, offhandedly recalling old fights, first as enemies then as allies. Memories slowly untangled themselves and from the fog came focus.

From focus came clarity.

* * *

  


"The third time we fought... you taunted me about Orihime. Do you remember that?" a crumpled look flickers over Kurosaki's face, "I asked if anyone hurt her and she says nothing happened but-"

He talks as if he personally failed her.

Something deep in Grimmjow twinges like the empty snap of a bowstring, drawn and released without a single arrow to fly loose. He shoves his hands into his pocket, "She lied. I walked into two of Aizen's bitches beating her face in. I would have turned them inside out with my bare hands, but she stopped me and healed them up." 

**_"...What?"_ **

"Cheh. I don't know what was going through that woman's head either. They were trash."

He understands why she lied but he's together with Kurosaki now and Grimmjow's debt to the woman is fully repaid. So Kurosaki gets the full truth and she loses her secret.

There's a line in the sand and in this instance he's firmly on the Shinigami's side... but he won't always be.

"Oi, we have to set something straight."

Ichigo snaps out of his private thoughts, "Yeah?"

He's still oddly shaken over his friend and Grimmjow doesn't get it. Whatever. It was between Kurosaki and the woman now.

He meets Kurosaki's curious gaze with a piercing blue stare. He doesn't hold back because he is who he is.

"I don't consider us equals and I never will, that bullshit is for losers who're content to be losers forever. One of us is weaker and one of us is stronger. If you slack off I won't hesitate to surpass you... _Got it?_ "

Kurosaki's almost speechless.

"... That's kind of-" the kid halts then carefully he steadies himself, "Say you're the stronger one, do you expect me to know my place and suck up to you or something?"

 **"What the hell?"** Grimmjow's hackles rise as red hot indignation claws up his spine at what Kurosaki's implying, " _I ain't your goddamn Fraccion and **I never will be. ******_When the tables turn you won't be my Fraccion either. You're thinking about a completely different dynamic."

Kurosaki's expression lifts with relief, "Alright, so what you want is open acknowledgement. That's it."

"Tch, wasn't I clear enough the first time?"

"Just making sure," he laughs off Grimmjow's snappiness and takes a step forward, close enough for the hollow to see a cheeky look flicker behind those warm eyes, "Hey… are there any other opinions you want me to be open about?"

"... Like what?"

"Whatever you can handle."

That sounds like a challenge but there's a double edged playfulness in Kurosaki's words. It sends a shiver brushing up Grimmjow neck, he had never encountered anyone who could be so bold and considerate at the same time. This was Ichigo's brand of kindness. Unique and all his own. 

"Who do you think is stronger right now?" Grimmjow demands.

"Me."

The Shinigami says it like it's a fact as plain as day. North is the opposite of south, oil floats on water and Kurosaki Fucking Ichigo thinks he can come out on top no matter what.

Grimmjow's upper lip curls. (What an arrogant little shit.) "Do you think that'll change any time soon?"

He gets an indulgent hum and a smile that's too playful than it has any right to be, "I won't make it easy."

"You better not. I'll kick your ass."

" _Mmhm_ , of course you would."

". . ." how was it possible for someone to be so patronizing and so flirty in five goddamn words?

Grimmjow wants to sink his teeth into that knowing smirk before his temper shoots a hole through the atmosphere like a Grand Rey Cero. He wants to wipe that cockiness off that stupid face and replace it with a better expression. How many times- _how many ways_ had he dreamed of having Kurosaki at his mercy? Something in his lower core stirs. It's a luxurious yawn of desire, full of dark urges fit for a king of beasts. Oh how he wants, how he _aches_ to pry that arrogance apart like a ribcage to intimately expose Kurosaki's inner self in ways he can barely handle.

A firm hand reaches up to cup his cheek, when did the kid get so close? Those bright brown eyes are watchful. Fixated.

Distantly, Grimmjow wonders if Kurosaki knows that he has the ex-Espada's hunger wrapped around his little finger. He probably does. He probably likes it. The kid gets off on being wanted, being needed- but this hollow wants him and needs him in ways his righteous little friends can't even comprehend.

Grimmjow wants to taste that fiery spirit, every dark lick of it. Snuff it out, coddle it, feed it and let it burn until he sees every side Kurosaki has to offer. All those uncharted territories are his to explore and no one else's because everyone just fucking _loves_ powerful, reliable, protective Kurosaki.

Grimmjow doesn't.

He doesn't because he's strong and the strong don't pine after that shit. They'll never be equals in terms of strength, but that doesn't mean they can't stand shoulder to shoulder or back to back. In fact, they'll leave everyone else choking on their dust. Everyone else will stare at their backs and **know** they're weak- that their inferiority is as absolute as it is unquestionable. The distance between them will stretch open like a canyon. Impossible. Undefeatable. 

He can feel it. He knows it's there: two isolated thrones sit on the horizon, just waiting for two rightful kings.

Untouchable.

Perfect.

"Come here."

Kurosaki's quiet command snaps him back to the present. A light flush colours the kid's cheeks but his gaze is dark and inviting.

He's so ridiculously transparent. (They both are.) Those parted lips look so untouched but Grimmjow is no one's dog. He simply leans in to rest his forehead against Kurosaki's, relishing how the kid's breath hitches, how it's so obvious he expects something more. 

Grimmjow could follow through, make all those needy desires come true. Sweep him off his feet. Indulge him until his knees go weak.

But that would be too predictable.

Instead he takes a moment to breathe in the fresh scent of Ichigo's still-living soul. It fills his lungs and he's deeply pleased that there's an unmistakable whiff of hollow beneath it all. It's powerful and sultry with the sweet, dark scent of rot. Distantly, he wonders if anyone else had ever gotten close enough to notice it. A tug of possessiveness briefly tightens his chest but its grip disperses into sand when Kurosaki's touch slides from Grimmjow's cheek to the back of his neck. Calloused fingers comb through his cyan hair, aching to pull him down. Their owner has more than enough strength to do it but he's too kind, too civil, _too soft_ to do it.

"Tease," Kurosaki knows he's playing with fire, his smile says it all.

"Coward," Grimmjow counters. He leans in close enough to feel the heat off Ichigo's cheeks because his quiet snarl is reserved for one person and one person alone, "Quit playing the noble hero and fucking **take** what you want."

He expects the kid to splutter with enough righteous indignation to grant him sainthood but the hollow's knocked off balance by the cockiest smirk he's ever seen.

_Fuck._

"You sure you can handle me, _Grimmjow_?"

Fuck those husky words. Fuck the way it strikes through his core like a bolt. Fuck the molten way Kurosaki's voice curls around his name like he wants to savor and torture every sweet syllable again and again until he reduces Grimmjow into some unspeakable state. The grip on his hair tightens and the Hollow inhales sharply at the swift tug _down_. Ichigo's mouth is so warm and so firm against his own.

A beat-

A breath exchanged-

And Kurosaki's lips soften to move against his. Plush surrender ebbs and flows into demanding nips, undercut with a feisty drag of teeth. Dominance and submission sways between them, rising and retreating like the steady lap and withdraw of a tide upon a shore.

It leaves Grimmjow breathless and searching for the word to describe the pushy, considerate way Ichigo treats him. It's strangely foreign and familiar at the same time, it's something he probably experienced lifetimes ago, before he woke and found himself alone in Hueco Mundo's endless night, before his hollowfication, before his death. 

Kurosaki's got it in spades whether he likes it or not. It burns, it aches, it's something meant to be shared, given, _earned_. Damnit, he needs to think.

(He needs to _remember_.)

Grimmjow breaks off their kiss to gather some surviving brain cells. He pointedly ignores the confused furrow etched between Kurosaki's brows… but he can't look away from the intense blush that clashes with that steady gaze. Damn if that wasn't a sweet contradiction. Mouthing off with big words and then turning pinker than a virgin despite all his boldness.

"Affectionate," it tumbles out of thin air and off his lips and Grimmjow can hardly believe it. 

That's it.

That's the word.

"Kurosaki…" he says, "You're really affectionate."

Of all the things he's said and done, he's never seen the kid turn into such a dark shade of red. Satisfaction wells up within him. He likes exposing this side too, it's a different sort of vulnerability but Kurosaki still tries to cover it up from the rest of the world.

"Shut _up_ ," the stubborn kid is kissing him anyway, "I'm not."

"Then what's all this, huh?" Grimmjow chuckles and kisses him again and again, "Is this all bullshit?"

"Yes," Ichigo grumbles and scowls but he accepts everything Grimmjow has to give, "This is all complete bullshit. Now please, _please_ shut up."

The hollow lets loose harsh bark of laughter,

"Make me."


	2. What You Are To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The rating is bumped up to Mature for a reason ;D

They’ve been together for a month now. It’s far from his first time in a human city but it’s the second time Grimmjow is in his own Gigai and he _still_ can’t stop his hand from wandering down to his stomach. Kurosaki’s starting to shoot him worried looks but the hollow can’t stop tracing the phantom rim that is clogged shut by a taunt, uninterrupted expanse of muscle. 

It’s a **cork** made of flesh- 

of meat- 

and **bone.**

It’s new- 

and it’s foreign- 

and it’s **strange.**

He finds himself missing the way the wind blows clean through him. This false weight is stifling- ( _nauseating-_ ) because it’s sitting in the cradle of his insides in a way that is so very **wrong** \- 

...Oh damn it. 

Damn it all. 

Don’t think. 

Breathe. 

_Focus._

Grimmjow’s eyes fall shut as he seeks out the hunger that lies within him. It’s a comforting ache of pure negative space, surrounded by a thousand devilish little whispers. To his relief it greets him with a familiar yawn that is too wide and too full of teeth. It is the anti-thesis of an eclipse. There is no blazing sun to blot out from the sky; there is only a dark, fathomless mass that swallows all that makes his soul human, all that makes him weak and doubtful. 

He still is who he is. 

His hollowed out core remains unchanged and untamed. 

He is not wearing a suit of false flesh and bone. 

It is a shell- it is a _brittle shell_ that could shatter at any time from the pressure of his pure will. 

Carefully, Grimmjow lifts his hand from his stomach. For a moment all is quiet and all is still- then he feels a tentative touch on his hand before it’s taken into a firm hold. When he opens his eyes Kurosaki’s expression is too full of concern. 

“We can go back.” 

“With our tails between our legs? No fucking thanks,” Grimmjow’s sneer is more bark than bite. He absolutely refuses be the weak link. If a Shinigami can use a Gigai then so can a former Espada. He’ll prove it. He’ll prove them all wrong. 

“I don’t care about that bullshit. I care about _you_ ,” Kurosaki grumbles and looks away, too honest and too sweet for his own good. 

A sudden spasm makes the hollow’s fingers twitch and he absolutely loathes how warm and steady Kurosaki’s hand is. How he quietly refuses to let go. Something unsettling and feverishly hot is curling up his spine- up his neck- up like a _centipede_ to lick at the base of his skull. 

“OH Great And MIGHTY, _First Protector_ ,” Grimmjow sarcastically mangles Ichi-Go’s name, “Please Stop Trying To Protect My Royal ASS. For It Needs NONE Of Your Goddamn Protection.” 

Pedestrians are staring and Kurosaki looks like he wants to die on the spot. Huh, he’s never made that face during their fights. Grimmjow doesn’t know if he should be insulted or impressed with himself. 

It takes only a moment for the kid to recover _“You-!“_ his scowl is downright thunderous, “You’re _such_ an ASSHOLE!” but he still doesn’t let go of Grimmjow’s hand as he tows them back to his apartment, “Why the hell am I dating such a freaking asshole? Why? WHY??” 

“That’s easy,” says Grimmjow, “you’re an asshole too.” 

He seriously is. 

But he’s also as kind as he is fierce. 

He’s strong in the most unpredictable moments and he’s soft in the most unexpected ways. There are times when he’s astoundingly thoughtless and times he’s so considerate, the hollow is starkly reminded that their souls are truly separate species. 

Grimmjow has… things now, things the Shinigami insisted on buying. He has a few sets of clothes, socks, shoes, a key to Kurosaki’s apartment, a leather strap attached to the fore-mentioned key, a pillow, a toothbrush and a grey-blue coffee mug set aside for his sole use because according to Kurosaki’s strange circular logic: the mug is special because it’s Grimmjow’s and that’s what makes it special. 

It’s odd. 

It’s odd to walk without Pantera at his side and it’s just as odd to have this little fleet of material possessions tying him down to Kurosaki. An integral part of him has difficulty grasping the concept of ownership and he has to remind himself that these things are truly his- that they exist in the human realm, safe and sound and far, far away from Hueco Mundo’s merciless sand storms and its ever-shifting landscape. 

The newest addition to this fleet is apparently a communication device. It’s flat and sleek and a little beat up around the edges. 

It’s heavier than it looks. 

They’re sitting on the floor of Kurosaki’s one room apartment, warm afternoon light is streaming in through the windows and Grimmjow has never seen that shock of orange hair look more like fire. The owner himself sits cross-legged, tapping away at his own ‘phone’ with his thumbs. 

_Tut-tut-tut-tut-tut-tut._

Kurosaki doesn’t look up as he speaks, “Urahara’s working on calls but we can send each other texts and pictures.” 

_Tut-tut-tut-tut-tut-tut._

The device’s incessant chittering reminds Grimmjow of an insect’s mandibles. He recalls meeting a little hollow that made the exact same noise back when he prowled the sands in his panther form. He also recalls the hearty crunch of its head in his jaws and the savory gush of its soul settling in his stomach. 

Yum. 

_Ping._

He looks down at his phone then swipes up and prods the green square in the corner like Kurosaki showed him and he reads: 

**[ “Let’s keep in touch.” ]**

He glances up. 

Kurosaki’s attention is elsewhere but he’s biting his lip. He’s so transparent and so goddamn needy but Grimmjow finds it undeniably flattering. Soul Society’s favourite trump card is just a 22 year old kid who looked at all of his loyal friends and allies and decided he’d rather have a hollow at his side. 

Grimmjow taps the blank rectangle at the bottom to write his reply. He’s not as fast at typing as Kurosaki is and he doesn’t know if he ever will be. 

**[ “I don’t know if I can send a lot of things.” ]**

**[ “Morning, babe. I woke up and Hueco Mundo’s**  
**eternal darkness is still dark and eternal. XOXOXO” ]**

He earns a surprised burst of laughter from Kurosaki. 

“XOXOXO? _Hugs and kisses?_ Where the heck did you learn that?” when he smiles, _genuinely smiles_ , there’s a dimple on his left cheek. 

Grimmjow shrugs a shoulder, feeling oddly accomplished for some reason, “Fundamental knowledge surfaces when hollows need it. Reading, writing, speaking… Did you seriously think we pulled our surnames out of our asses? I can speak Japanese fluently but I prefer French and German.” 

“Huh,” Kurosaki rubs the back of his neck, “I didn’t know that.” 

“There’s a lot of shit you don’t know.” 

Specifically: there’s a lot lower ranked Shinigami don’t know. It’s difficult but Grimmjow keeps that comment to himself because it’s bait for a discussion neither of them are ready to have. Instead he messes around with his new phone. It appears that every little shape on the ‘home’ grid opens another layer. Every layer has roughly the same thing in the top bar. 

“You’re really sharp for a guy who’s never used electronics before,” Ichigo leans in closer to watch. His tactless comment makes Grimmjow stiffen. The hollow slowly looks up from his phone, unbelievably insulted. 

He was ‘Really Sharp’? _‘Really **sharp** ’ for a: **What The Fuck Was Kurosaki Implying About His Intelligence??**_

This isn’t the first time the former Espada wants to grab the Shinigami’s puzzled face and shove a Cero down his throat but it is the first time he restrains himself. He quakes- his temper barely contained as he pierces Ichigo with a look that could bend steel, “ _Anyone_ with basic logic can figure this shit out. It’s **fucking** obvious when there’s a consistent set of rules. You can’t release your Shikai without knowing the name of your Zanpakuto. You can’t release a Bankai or learn its true name without releasing your Shikai.” He taps the home button a little too hard and jabs a blue square, “ _Contacts_ has a layer of settings, so obviously _your_ specific contact layer has its own layer of settings.” 

“Wait. What’re you-“ the kid watches helplessly as Grimmjow viciously wipes his name clean and replaces it with ‘Kurosaki’. He groans, “Are you **ever** going to call me by my actual name?” 

**“No.”**

“Not ever?” 

“Not ever.” 

“Even if I ask nicely?” 

“ **Especially** if you ask nicely.” 

Slowly but surely a little ray of realization dawns on Ichigo’s face and Grimmjow can see him rolling an idea around his head like a marble. He’s a stupidly noble kid who owes way too much to lucky breaks, but there’s hope for him yet because the next thing he does is sit himself onto Grimmjow’s lap. 

“Hey… What if I stop playing nice?” his dark eyes are molten but cheeky, “What if I force you?” 

The coy challenge in the kid’s voice instantly soothes away his fury and arouses his attention, "Force me?” the hollow echoes back with the same sultry heat, “I’d like to see you try… _Kurosaki_.” He can practically feel the shudder that brushes up the kid’s back and he can definitely feel increasing interest down south. Without breaking Kurosaki’s gaze, he carefully sets his new phone aside. “But is that seriously all you want?” Grimmjow hisses as he slides his hands up Kurosaki’s firm thighs, relishing the way they jolt beneath his palms, “Are you going this far just to make me to say one little word?” 

The kid tenses and blushes. Then he huffs out a soft, knowing laugh and leans in to cup the hollow’s face. “My name isn’t just one little word, Grimmjow,” the chaste kiss Ichigo presses against his lips is sweet but it is still aimed to shatter his resolve. 

“Liar. You just want to fuck.” 

“Can’t I have both?” the devious little bastard in his lap grinds down against him, “Come on… say my name,” his voice drops to a husky murmur as he slides his arms around Grimmjow’s neck, 

“I want to hear you.” 

_Holy fuck._ The _things_ this kid does to him- 

Kurosaki might be dense but he’s a quick learner. Quick to retaliate, quick to give as good as he gets and then some. He’s starting to catch onto all the dark little things the hollow secretly likes about him and instead of heading for the hills like a sane person, Kurosaki is in his lap, masterfully indulging the hollow’s twisted desires to get what he wants. 

If only his uptight friends could see their savior now, they’d stage an intervention- but it’s too late. They’re already too tangled up in each other to ever come apart and what’s more: _Kurosaki_ is the one who started it. Kurosaki is the one grinding their clothed dicks flush against each other. Kurosaki is the one shamelessly leaning back on his palms to get better leverage. 

He’s the neediest one. 

But he’s not the hardest one. 

A particularly sensual rock of Kurosaki’s hips makes Grimmjow’s hiss morph into a heady groan. Distantly he wonders if the kid knows what he’s doing, if he knows about the dark current uncurling beneath the hollow’s skin- thrashing through his system- lancing every physical fiber of himself with urges he can barely contain. 

He wonders if the kid can handle him. 

_Fuck._ It’s goddamn Kurosaki. Of course he can. 

The breath he takes skitters and rattles in his chest. His fingers twitch, just _aching_ to pry the Shinigami’s legs apart to ravage him. He wants to see- to _feel_ Kurosaki _shatter_ beneath him from sheer pleasure again and _again_ until he’s a trembling, vulnerable **wreck**. He’ll show him completion like he’s never experienced while violating him in all the ways he secretly adores. He’ll overload him until they hit the sweet point of no return, it’ll be a lonely place of ruin because no one- fucking **no one** will come close to pleasuring Kurosaki like he does. 

Tightening his grip, Grimmjow is ready to push the kid down and take him right then and there but he stops short at the smirk Kurosaki is bestowing upon him. His gaze is half-lidded and what the- 

The former Espada doesn’t expect the quick peck on his right cheek. It’s so cute and sweet _he’s seized by the irrational urge to punch something._

“The hell-“ his snarl dies in his throat the moment the Ichigo gets up and Grimmjow’s lap is suddenly so empty it _hurts._ Immediately he remembers the kid’s original intentions and he swears up a category five storm in his head. **Jesus. _FUCK._** If Kurosaki intends to cockblock him until he says his stupid name- the hollow is so enraged by the possibility he can’t even coherently list the shit he’ll do. 

(Yell. **Curse.** Leave. Find the rest of Aizen's tea cups. **Smash them.** Slam a door. **Howl.** )

“Grimmjow… we’re not doing this on the _floor_ ,” the kid’s snippy grumble is dampened by the flustered blush on his cheeks. He motions to the bed by the wall. 

Oh… 

… Oh **fuck yeah.**

* * *

By the end of it, the Shinigami was most vocal one and damn did he make some of the prettiest noises, his initial goal completely forgotten in favour of cursing and moaning _Grimmjow’s_ name over and over again. The hollow has difficulty comprehending how Kurosaki can be so arousing and endearing at the same time but he’s determined to show exactly how hot it makes him. 

“Geez,” the kid sighs as he’s kissed, “Round three isn’t gonna happen. My body has a limit.” 

“That’s fine.” 

“Oh…” says Kurosaki, _“Oh…”_ he squirms a little as Grimmjow sucks at that sensitive little place under his jaw. A teasing smile blooms across his expression, “Mmmn… who’s the affectionate one now?” 

If the kid expects Grimmjow to rise to that sort of bait, he still has a lot to learn about him. 

“Guess it’s me today,” muses the hollow, “Big deal. I am who I am.” 

“So Grimmjow Jaegerjaques is secretly a mushy cuddle monster?” 

“Repeat that to anyone and I’ll rip out your throat, Kurosaki.” 

A scowl darkens his pretty eyes, “ _Tch._ You’re still calling me that.” And NOW he remembers why they got naked in the first place. What an adorable dumb-fuck. Grimmjow’s grin becomes equal parts amused and victorious as he watches the Shinigami mentally kick himself before turning his sour temper onto the hollow, “Damn it… what’s wrong with my given name?” 

“I prefer Kurosaki.” 

“Why?” 

He’s got a dozen reasons but something inside isn’t ready to reveal them, so Grimmjow simply rolls his eyes, “I just do. Hell, you should be grateful I’m even using your name.” 

“As opposed to?” 

“Bastard. Bitch. Asshole. Jackass. Dipshit-” he receives a shove but drawls on, “and of course _Erdbeere. Fresa. Mon petite fraise._ Or y’know… _Strawberry_.” 

“Oh fuck you.” 

“Thought you weren’t up for round three.” 

The huffy glare he receives is well deserved. The fussy way Kurosaki pulls his blanket over Grimmjow is completely undeserved. 

“One day,” the kid’s threat ends in a tuckered out yawn. 

“Don’t bet on it,” says Grimmjow as he watches Kurosaki drift off. 

Because forget the damn fruit. 

‘Ichigo’ sounds like such an up-beat name on its own. It’s sweet and short. It’s three twittering syllables ready to fly off into a cloudless blue sky without a care in the world. 

It's nothing like ‘Kurosaki’. 

Grimmjow vastly prefers the latter. 

Ku-Ro-Sa-Ki. 

It rolls off his lips like four deep lashes of velvet and barbed wire. Dangerous. Complex. It sounds like an onslaught already in motion. 

It's a name of a true arch-rival. It's a thick black curse that burns through his throat like boiling acid. Invading his system, tormenting him as every pulse- every breath he draws circulates that damned name through his very core. 

Because. 

Because he wouldn't be here if it weren't for Kurosaki's last minute act of mercy. It's an inescapable fact laced into the very marrow of his continued existence. It used to piss him off like no tomorrow and he swore he'd make Kurosaki regret ever meeting him but now... 

He noses the Shinigami’s cheek and watches the way his lashes flutter as he wakes up. 

“Mmn? What is it?” 

The hollow’s gaze falls down to that tanned, marked up neck. It’s hard not to recall how Kurosaki always bares his throat so willingly. So Grimmjow takes in a deep breath and says, “I need my phone to completely silent when I’m doing important shit in Hueco Mundo. I don’t know if I’ll check it often but… I’ll try,” his voice is no more than a quiet rasp, “You got that… _Ichigo?_ ” 

Grimmjow looks up back just in time to witness the weight of his words unfold behind those expressive eyes. Everything about Ichigo softens like an exhale and his lips slowly curves up. The kid is happier than he’d ever let on. 

For that little surrender, Ichigo nuzzles his face into his pillow. His words are muffled but there’s no hiding that uncontrollably pleased grin, 

“Alright, Grimmjow.” 

* * *

A few days later he’s on his favourite dune lounging on his back. 

Grimmjow doesn’t like to take back his words but scratch everything he said earlier about his new phone. Scratch it, trash it, stomp it into the curb and read out its funeral rites. 

Texting is fun. 

Everyone knows Kurosaki has a snarky streak but the ongoing commentary in this kid’s head is a fucking riot. The cork’s off the bottle, the dam’s gone and Grimmjow’s receiving a biblical flood of pics and sarcastic one liners about his day. 

He can’t stop grinning as he reads Kurosaki’s latest messages. Fuck. Is it possible to fall for the same person twice? Head over heels and all over again? 

“Are you busy?” 

Grimmjow’s good mood snaps shut. 

He can sense Nelliel looming over him, hands planted on her hips like the tyrannical older sister he never asked for. Pointedly he ignores her to tap away at his screen, rapid fire and precise… but it’s still not sinking into her thick head. He’s not surprised. Any acts of subtlety have to penetrate her hollow mask, navigate the jungle of her crazy hair then drill through her heirro-enforced skull before crossing a desolate void to find her brain. It’s in there somewhere. Legends speak of it. 

“You don’t look busy.” 

Grimmjow rolls his eyes and keeps texting, “I’m **trying** to exchange dick pics with Kurosaki but _someone’s_ invading my privacy.” It’s a lie. He just wants to see Nel’s squeaky clean image of her precious ‘Itsygo’ crumble and burn. 

The utterly revolted look on her face is too good to be real. 

So he takes a photo. 

_“HEY-”_

And he takes another. 

“Jaegerjaques, _I’m warning you-_ “ 

Grimmjow takes one more and informs her, “You’ve got a great double chin at this angle.” 

“QUIT IT.” 

He sighs and reads out his next text as he writes it, _“Sor-ry, babe. Yodeling-Shoe-Wank won't shut up-"_

**"IT'S ODELSCHWANCK!"**

_"I’ll s-end you dick pics late-r.”_ Attach photo, open gallery, oh look it’s a triple helping of Nelliel’s pissy face, tap-tap-tap to select them all _aaand_ sent. 

Pop. Pop. 

**[ “Isn’t every photo of you in existence technically a dick pic?” ]**

**[ “Tell Nel I said hi” ]**

Something warm stirs in his core when he reads Ichigo’s messages. The more openly insufferable the kid is; the more Grimmjow likes him. 

Another little pop. 

**[ “Wow she mad” ]**

_“Grimmjow…”_

There’s a growl in her voice that implies his phone is seconds away from being thrown into the distant horizon. Normally he’d never allow her to push him around like this but it’s that time of the week again and they have an arrangement. 

Pesche Guatiche and Dondochakka Birstanne aren’t going to attain Espada level strength by themselves. Not without some very heavy handed help.


End file.
